Trey Tarantula
This little guy showed up on the back porch last night, while Ethel and I were playing pool.
He wasn't being mean or aggressive - he was just cruising for babes. Unfortunately, there weren't any taratubabes on the back porch last night, so he wandered off into the darkness on his quest.
He was probably about four inches wide with his legs up - probably had about a six-to-eight inch legspan with them spread. A good looking fellow, by any account - I'm sure that he eventually walked by some lady tarantula who took one look and said "!" and they went off to make babies.
Ethel says that the monsoon rains beating on the ground are like love drums for tarantulas - I've already ascertained that it's bass, rather than treble, that gets the ladies' zizz wheels to spinning. I'm not surprised that it's true for tarantulas, as well.
This is just a short note, as I'm in a bit of a hurry - gotta get everything done early today, as the first college football game of the season starts in just a little while, and I don't want to have to stop in mid-game to do anything that I had forgotten (not that I would - I mean, I wouldn't stop watching in the middle of the game, not that I wouldn't forget). So I'll leave you with this picture of one hunka-hunka burnin' taratulove.
I suppose it goes without saying that we have Very Big T's here in Texas. Right next to water mocassins they're our favorite least-favorite critter. (Oh, look, the Husker hifunated a wurd). Anyway, about a year ago our three older boys (10, 8, and 6 at the time) decided to domesticate one of the species. Over the boy's objections, we vetoed their plan for an open-space policy. Instead, a glassed-in enclosure with a screen over the top was subsequently purchased. For nearly a year we supplied Mother T with store-bought crickets when the local population took a hiatus. Often we watched in facination as Madam T lay in wait before swiftly disposing of her prey. Alas, perhaps due to the absence of a Mr. T, our Madam T just gave up and wilted away. One day she was gone. A proper northern hemisphere burial was then conducted. In truth, I was happy to see Madam T go. In my eulogy I admitted to such feelings. For over a year I had been concerned. Certainly the way Madam T hunted and dispatched of those poor defenseless crickets should have been cause for at least a half-dozen pickets. It was just brutal to watch those poor crickets cling upside down to the screen as they tried to avoid detection. Eventually, succombing to the lack of food and water, they dropped into the lair of Madame T. I must ask, where were you P.E.T.A., or even the Humane Society, when those poor critters needed your saving grace? I remain Heartbroken in Texas.
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We've had Charlotte's Web from Netflix sitting atop the subwoofer for some weeks.
I enjoyed the book; but while I remember that the pigs and chickens - and spiders - talked, I DON'T recall that the flies and such that Charlotte caught and ate ever had anything to say.
Such is fantasy. Like in Bambi, where the wise old owl taught the little bunnies and mice all about being "twitterpated" and never even ate them.
jim p.
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